


The Hotel

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [9]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Halloween, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya stops at a mysterious Hotel in Northern California while on the way to meet Napoleon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hotel

  
  


It was late and he'd had a long day's drive up through northern California. Illya Kuryakin estimated that he was not far from the Oregon border when he decided to call it a day.

 It was the end of October with the scenery having been spectacular along the way and there were a few times he was tempted to stop to partake of the view, but as usual he didn't. He and his partner rarely stopped to smell the roses, as Napoleon would often say when they would be boarding their flight to New York after an assignment is some exotic locale.

 He surmised he had reached the border, when the scenery changed dramatically. The road became rather desolate, and the landscape became more desert-like.

 Guessing that he'd crossed into the great basin, Illya shrugged off the change. Yet he was a little annoyed with himself as he thought he'd mapped out the the trip accurately. The Russian became concerned that he'd have to spend the night in the car. He was tired, and didn't relish the thought of doing that.

 It was then he saw it, a dilapidated but shimmering sign for a place called the Hotel Ca... the name was broken away, but another sign beneath it indicated luxury accommodations as well as a swimming pool. There was an equally decrepit sign that indicated there was a vacancy.

"Hmmm?" Illya cocked his eyebrows; surprised at such a discovery in the middle of nowhere.

 The sun was beginning to set and that helped him make his decision as he pulled off the highway, taking a long winding road that seemed to stretch for an unusual length of time.

He reached the hotel at last, finding it a bit ramshackled and supposed it made sense as the sign advertising the place along the highway was in poor condition and logically, the hotel might be as well as it really was off the beaten track.

 Still, he reminded himself that beggars could not be choosers and it was better than being cramped up in the back seat of the car for the night. At least he could resume his trip to meet his partner feeling refreshed.

 After parking the convertible, he gathered his small travel case and walked in through the front door. Upon entering, he detected the immediate odor of mildew and dust, something one would expect in an older building perhaps, but this hotel seemed more modern in design. Illya ventured a guess since it was so remote, that it was not a very lucrative business. Upkeep and operations, after all, did require money.

 "Hello," he said softly so as to not startle the desk clerk who was nodding off, resting his head on his hand and leaning his elbow on the desk for support. He awoke with a start, looking quite pale and sorely in need of a shave and a bath.

 Illya got a whiff of him and took a step back. "Excuse me, I'd like a room for the night please, that is if you truly have a vacancy?" Illya asked warily, thinking perhaps sleeping in the car might be a better idea.

"Achoo!" He sneezed from the dust and possible allergens in the air, and pulled his handkerchief to blow his nose. "Excuse me."

 "Well the place is pretty full up, once folks get here, they never want to leave. It has a real draw... but we have a room for you. We always have room. If you'd just sign the register. That'll be $11.00."

 Illya pulled out his wallet, opting to pay cash rather than using his expense account card, as he suspected this place wouldn't accept it. The price was the going rate, and he had more than enough cash with him for miscellaneous needs. He signed the book, using a rather unoriginal cover name, as one could never be too cautious.

 "May I have a receipt for that? Business expense."

 The desk clerk looked wearily at the register. "Yeah, sure Mr. ummm...Smith. We'll have it for you when you check out." For some reason the clerk laughed nervously when he said that. He handed Illya his room key, pointing him to the hall to the left.

 "It's the third door on the right."

 "Thank you, " Illya answered politely, surprised at the lack of an offer to call someone to carry his bag. Not that he needed help or wanted it, but it just seemed strange. Most hotels that he'd stayed in across the U.S. had some sort of bellboy or baggage attendant to show a guest to his quarters. Perhaps the lack of service was another reason why the place was so runned down, lack of business perhaps, though the clerk hinted the hotel was always busy. Illya shrugged that off, as he was too tired to bother thinking about it.

 He hesitated, asking one more question. "Are we in Oregon?"

 "No sir, we're in California."

 "Really, I was surprised to see desert like conditions and thought I had reached the basin. I must have miscalculated."

 The clerk simply shrugged, and closed his eyes as he resumed his original resting position.

 Illya passed a young woman in the hall, dressed rather oddly as if she were from another era, 1940's perhaps, her clothing seemed shabby and he assumed she had gotten it from a second hand store, thinking she wore it for some sort of costume party. Americans liked those sort of things... She stared at him with her deep brown eyes, but it was the dark circles beneath them that stood out to Illya more than anything.

 "Go while you can," she whispered as she leaned towards him before disappearing into the room next to his.

 Illya took note that she reeked of alcohol and paused, trying to get his weary brain to make sense of her words but when no reasonable answer came to him other than drunkenness he shrugged that off too, and decided not to investigate further. He turned to his own door, inserting and turning the key and entered his room.

 It was plain, a double bed with two night tables on either side. A single wooden chair and table by the window as well as a small dresser. Nothing else. Usually there were minor amenities... a pitcher of water, tea bags, instant coffee, but not here. Illya cocked an eyebrow when he realized there were mirrors on the ceiling and chuckled to himself, thinking this would have suited his partner.

 Walking into the bathroom; he found it acceptably clean. Everything was white, including the cold tile floor. There were several small bars of soap by the sink, and plenty of towels hanging from a rack on the wall.

 He used the toilet, then after loosening his black tie, he washed his hands and face. He stared at himself in the mirror, and was startled to see an ethereal reflection of a person standing behind him, he turned instantly, drawing his weapon, but no one was there.

Illya shook his head and yawned, and rubbed his eyes. It was just his tired and sometimes paranoid imagination getting the better of him...or was perhaps the awful meatloaf he'd had for dinner, making him think of Ebenezer Scrooge, with his gruel and his ghostly visits. He sighed, knowing it would be good just to crawl into his bed alone, for once.

Though he missed Napoleon when on these solo excursions, it was the American's company he longed for, but not when it came to sharing a bed. The Old Man was always coming down on field agents to keep expenses to a minimum, requiring them to share rooms. Two beds were not always available.

Napoleon was a restless sleeper, and more often than not Illya would find himself pushed to the edge of the mattress, confined there for most of the night. Sleeping alone in a bed of his own while on a mission had become a guilty pleasure, though one Illya would never admit to.

As he walked to the bed to unpack his pajamas he looked upwards noting that one of the ceiling tiles was missing, exposing a number of pipes to view.

He looked at it carefully, and when not seeing anything untowards such as a camera, he dropped his concern as he dressed for bed. He opened his communicator but found there was no signal, just white noise, something that happened from time to time. He picked up the receiver of the telephone on the nightstand and called the desk for an outside line.

"I'm sorry Mr. Smith, but the phones are down, we only seem to have a service inside the hotel."

 Illya thought that odd, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was ahead of schedule on his trip to rendezvous with Napoleon, so it was not like he would be missed. He pulled back the coverlets on the bed and slipped beneath them with a sigh of resignation and satisfaction.

As usual, he fell asleep quickly but it was not a restful sleep. His dreams were vivid, as there was the smell of colitas in the air...marijuana, and he was surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of shimmering lights.

 The woman he'd met briefly in the hallway was standing in the doorway to his room. "Didn't you hear the bell?" She was holding a lit candle and gestured for him to follow her.

 "This can be such a lovely place if you let it be, otherwise it could be a sort of hell. I warned you." She said dreamily.

 He wasn't sure what she meant by that, but felt compelled to follow her.

"I do not know your name," he said.

"It doesn't matter, names aren't important here.

There were voices coming down the corridor and when Illya and the woman reached them, they called out to him.

"Welcome, isn't it such a lovely place here?" They led him outside to the back of the hotel, illuminated by hundreds of candles and tiki torches that surrounded the courtyard and pool.

Illya was still in his pajamas, and for a moment he wondered if this was a dream or not. "I really cannot stay, I have to sleep as I have a long trip in the morning."

The people surrounding him, all oddly dressed, some in tie-dye, pajamas, ballroom gowns and tuxes began to sneer, laughing at him.

"Come on live it up," they called." One tried passing him a joint, but the Russian declined with a wave of his hand.

He saw some of the guests sticking needles into their arms, and snorting white lines of cocaine from the table tops with rolled up dollar bills. Music filled the air...some drug-related song by Steppenwolf, he thought, recalling the band. Everyone began to dance slowly at first, then their movements became more frenetic as the music changed and grew faster.

Illya resisted as some of the scantily clad women pawed at him, trying to get him to dance with them. They ripped open his blue pajama top, but he removed their hands from him as delicately as possible.

"Thank you, but no."

As he retreated from them, he saw there was no water in the pool, yet there was a fat man in striped bathing bathing trunks lying in the middle of it on his stomach, moving his arms as if he were swimming the breaststroke.

"Oh Captain!" Illya's female companion called out. "Bring me some wine. Would you like some wine, or perhaps some pink champagne?"

"No," Illya said tersely, "I would like to go back to my room to sleep."

"Sleep, no one sleeps here," she whispered, "Too dangerous, they get into your head through your dreams...we're all prisoners here by our own means. We weren't tricked by anyone; we tricked ourselves. We put ourselves here."

"That made absolutely no sense to the Russian and he stepped back from her. She was either mad or strung out on drink and drugs.

The others suddenly grabbed a middle-aged man, dragging him to a fire pit on the far side of the patio, tying him up and hoisting him up on a spit. They began stabbing at him with knives and he howled like a wild beast.

Illya suddenly became the focus of their attention, and they began walking towards him, zombie-like, holding up their bloody knives…\

He woke up in bed, his pajamas completely soaked in sweat. He got up and hurriedly dressed himself, throwing his things in his bag and quickly headed out to the front desk.

"I am checking out, my bill now, please," he spoke sharply.

"Sure Mr. Smith. Relax,"said the nightman, flashing him a feral grin. We're programmed to receive, though you can check out any time you like, you just can't leave."

"I would not bet on that." Illya drew his Walther, backing towards the hotel entrance but found it locked.

"Open it now," he ordered. When the clerk refused, Illya shot the lock and kicked the door open, making his exit to his car.

The sky was a kaleidoscope of colors with the billowing clouds reflecting the yellows, pinks and purples of dawn A welcoming warmth of the sun rose as he pulled out to the road and just as the light peeked over the horizon. Illya checked the rearview mirror, ensuring he was not being followed and watched as the hotel shimmered for a moment, before it completely disappeared.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and hit the gas pedal, continuing to drive until he reached the main highway. Pulling the car to the side of the road; Illya looked at his watch, suddenly taking note of the date in a near panic. It indicated that it was the seventh, yet he had checked into the hotel on the fourth. He grabbed his communicator from his suit jacket and found he had a signal and immediately contacted his partner.

 "Where the hell have you been?" Napoleon demanded, though there was a hint of relief in his voice. "We've been searching for you for days, are you okay?"

"I am, and you are not going to believe what happened." Illya recounted his story. "I do not quite understand, as it was dreamlike but it was as if I had been caught in some sort mad house...no make that a drug den," he stuttered, " I am not sure what it was. Could it have been a figment of my imagination and food poisoning from bad meatloaf? He looked back to the other road and saw the sign was still there. "Maybe it was real?" He asked himself.

There was a moment of silence. "Tovarisch, you do realized it's Halloween? We've seen a lot of strange things in our day, if you recall our experience in that hotel in Milwaukee?* I don't doubt you for one minute. I think I'll contact our Los Angeles headquarters and tell them to put up an alert for that particular exit. I don't want another of our agents getting caught in whatever it was. We can alert the State Police about it as well, just in case. What did you say the name of the place was?”

"The sign was broken and said only Hotel Ca...I suppose it could be California."

"Done," Napoleon said. "I'll contact Waverly and let him know you've been located. Just get your Russian zhopa here. I'll be waiting for you."

"I am already on the way. Out." Illya snickered to himself. "Definitely way out."

.

* ref "The Spies That Go Bump in the Night."

.

Author's note: if you hadn't already guessed, this was inspired by the Eagles song, "Hotel California," one that always stirred the imagination.


End file.
